Glances, Yours and Mine
by Andrea Weiling
Summary: A collection of KandaxAllen drabbles. Beware of language, AU, potential sap, and character death.
1. Though It Was A Dream

Though It Was a Dream

by anza (18.10.06)

It was a dream. It was a dream.

He could see it suddenly in his mind, the sight of his own mouth opening wide, wider so he could see the pearly white shine of every tooth in his jaw, every tastebud on his tongue. And then the sound was coming forth, and the mind-sight was panning out so he could see the tip of his nose, see the quiver of his jaw, then the twin sets of crescents where his eyes were squeezed tight away from the sight, away from the smell in the air, warm and humid and metallic. The scream started high, a screeching sound like the death cry of a rabbit, but as his sight widened to the tip of one rotten hand clutching against his shirt, tugging like a child, the scream tuned higher still until he couldn't tell where the beginning of the nightmare and the scrabbling denial of his deeds ended. All there was was the keening, shrill sound, that terrible music in the air as he breathed the blood of dozens, of hundreds, his red hands smearing messily down the sides of his cheeks.

His hands, his body was so cold he was afraid they were taking the heat from him, afraid they were sucking the life from him. And they were, because as they felt the warmth of his arms, reaching out to rip him slowly to shreds, he was growing further and further from life. The scream whispered away, though his mouth was still opened wide. In the dark of his dream, his pentacle on his forehead burned brightly.

Something - someone else's hands - pried his away from where he'd been clutching his head hopelessly. Abruptly he jerked awake and away from whoever it was, but Kanda didn't let his hands go. They were locked together, Allen's in panic and Kanda's in worry that didn't quite hide behind the dark scowl of between his brows.

Slowly his mouth closed from where he'd been opened so wide his lips hurt, hands falling lax into his lap. They looked at each other, and Allen knew there were little lines of hysteria around his eyes, a little rim of white around his pupils. Absently his good hand covered the other one unconsciously, tracing the wrinkles there with a nervous desperation. There were so many demons in the world, and they rarely disturbed Allen Walker from his sleep. This one had left him more than a little shaken, which was why the other boy was there, blue eyes so dark in the night that they were only faint gleams of liquid color, looking unblinking at him.

_What is it you want?_, those eyes asked him.

Allen reached out with one hand, but even before his fingers reached the other boy's shoulder Kanda had lunged forward, bringing Allen to him fiercely. Their lips, their teeth clashed, and then Allen was once again desperate, fingers closing on the muscle of his lover's arm, squeezing it. The Japanese pressed him down onto the bed, legs fighting to dominate the smaller boy under him. A frenzy of hair and fingers and flesh, and Allen was freed from the nightmares, freed from the demons of his sleep by his own dark protector that watched over him even at night, the dark arc of his sword slicing through the darkness.

The younger boy sobbed, hot tears running down the lines of Kanda's shoulder and chest. The Japanese froze, eyes a little wide at the moan, at the helpless scrape of nails against his back and the wetness from Allen's eyes, and then relaxed, movements a little more gentle. He cradled the younger boy closer, until Allen's forehead was cushioned against Kanda's cheek, and the baby-softness made him moan again, softer and quieter. No words between them now, only the slow move of seeking fingers and the irresistable toe-curling sensations. In the night between the fading hiccups of his hysteria, Kanda's clumsy fingers came away silver where they wiped his cheeks.

Though it was a dream, Allen smiled.


	2. Mind's Eye

Mind's Eye

by anza (27.10.06)

The train clacked, jolted. The window rattled in synchronization with the rhythm of the wheels passing over the tracks. He could feel his teeth chattering along with that forceful rhythm too; as comfortable and cushy as they made first-class passenger seats, it wasn't enough to block all of him from bouncing up and down like some sadistic, grumpy Jack-in-the-Box.

He couldn't see him (because his eyes were closed), but undoubtedly Walker was on the other side, facing him, light eyes watching him carefully from under the fringe of his silvery bangs. Those eyes, curious and not judgemental in the least - childish in their regard, old in their understanding - frightened him a little, because it felt when that gaze settled on him so comfortably like a blanket, he had finally found someone to trust.

That was important to avoid.

But nevertheless he could see his partner in his mind's eye now. The boy was a little shorter than he was, but when he hunched over a little like he was doing now, he seemed even shorter. His hair would gather at his shoulders, then slide forward to hang around his face. Under the spluttering train lights it would gleam and darken with a life of its own. Both hands to each side of his body, clutching the edge of the seat, the white of the gloves stark against the red cushions. His hood might be up, which meant there would only be the faint gleam of his alarming eyes and the baby-pink hue of his lips adding any sort of color to the pale moon underneath.

He shifted uncomfortably in his half-asleep state. Walker had been slipping more and more into his thoughts lately. That was to be expected, of course - he was curious to see what a disciple of General Cross' had to offer, as well as skeptical to see how long the brat would last. Though, when he thought about it, Allen was only a few years younger than he was. If he was a brat, so was Kanda.

Perhaps more so. Snorting at the idea, he leaned his head against the back of the seat and decided it was enough mental rumination, and it was time to get some shuteye before he found he had no time to during the mission.

It was a few minutes later that he felt a little flutter of air beside him, too deliberate to be accidental. Mentally he tensed every part of him, ready to act, ready to take on whoever or whatever danger was so close, _too close..._

There came a little shuffle of clothes, and then there was the shock of warm skin on his forehead - one finger, pushing apart the bangs on his forehead. He could feel some of his hair flop back - he could see that in his mind too, the arc they made as they dangled like fishing lines in the air - the other pushed to the sides of his face. And then, in the skin above his left eyebrow, that finger traced a shape, the movement rhythmic as the rattle-clank of the train and the quickening thump of his heart -

- ah. It was a star. The clumsy diagram of a pentacle, mirroring the brat's curse.

_Not a brat. Not a beansprout. Allen Walker, exorcist._

Memories played idly in his head. Eyes a little wide at his entrance, the tentative outstretched hand of introduction he'd scorned; movements jerky from Komui's ruthless repair of his arm; face concentrated over a report, and then the minute flicker from the paper to his face, and then back down again nervously. Walker seemed easily scared, and hardly fit to be an exorcist, but...

...if he had gotten this far, if he had received that glaring mark of the path Fate chose for him, if Allen Walker could go farther even after whatever horror lay behind him, then Kanda would see. See with his own eyes what that shockingly silver head would grow up into.

There was a little huff of breath that blew warmly over his cheekbone for a moment, and then the finger withdrew. A creak in the seat was followed by a just-audible, "Sorry." Despite himself Kanda wondered how they must look - his black hair in contrast to Allen's bone-bleached, both dressed like dark-robed undertakers. An odd pair...but, as the Japanese pictured in his mind, also discomfortingly fitting. He, head tilted back, the river of black hair caught on the open book of his collar, one leg over the other, arms crossed and body posture closed. Allen, his hands in his laps, back against the seat as he looked down at the green glint of the cross embedded on the back of his hand, wondering, wishing for a hand to be outstretched in return, with a smile that might crack his own frozen one -

- Kanda wondered, then, who he was talking about. The thoughts all blurred together, as if someone had taken a wet negative and wiped the face of it roughly all at once. There were no apologies needed, he wanted to say, there was nothing Walker could have done about it. But that wouldn't be understanding, not the kind Allen wanted. That would just be restatement.

_Don't mention it._ That sounded too casual. _What the hell do you think you were doing while you thought I was asleep?_ Too unfeeling. _Go to sleep, Walker._ Now that was too caring.

Was Allen looking for an answer? Or just for a place to perch while he rested his weary wings?

Kanda could give him that.

With that thought, the face of the photo slowly blurred further, until finally there was no distinguishing what was what, and where and why there was only the pretend-memory of Allen's pale face peeking from beneath his hood, the pink of his lips the only drop of color on the canvas. And then there was only a mess of gray in his mind's eye, and he felt himself tumbling headfirst into the realm of sleep.


	3. Heartbeats

Heartbeats

by anza (29.10.06)

Regular heartbeat. It echoed emptily in his chest, the _tha-THUMP_, _tha-THUMP_ rhythm. He forced himself to be relaxed, he forced himself not to think about it, about the sideways slide of Kanda's eyes and the darkness of another person, so close to him. Words exchanged. The flicker of long hair, sliding over the pit-black uniform to swing lazily against his back. And all this time, Allen forced himself to be calm, forced his heartbeat to stay the same, that uncaring walking pace muted in his ears.

But despite his efforts he felt it jump and jolt here and there. As Kanda moved closer it suddenly felt like a bouncing bal inside an ever-shrinking glass cage: it was going to shatter it soon. And then the Japanese moved closer again, and suddenly the look in those eyes flashed hungrily, and Allen knew, Allen _heard_ the beat speeding up, speeding into a gallop that became even more chaotic still when Kanda tilted his head up with one hand, placed the other carefully to the side of his head, and leaned forward.

Purposeful. Almost as if it were a normal gesture for him to do. But Allen's heart was going crazy, his eyes were blinking in confusion and their noses bumped for a second. His hands clenched into fists. There were no words now, now that their lips were pressed together. He couldn't even think over the roar of the beat, _ka-thud ka-thud ka-thudka-THUDKATHUD--_

It wasn't fair, because Kanda's face was as smooth and without ripple or ceremony as it always was. While Allen's panic soared to new heights, Kanda pressed forward, not eager but not without purpose. Allen felt himself crumble, felt control yanked out of his fingers, and he was furious, he was angry, he was helpless and vulnerable and Kanda should _know better_, because neither of them wanted to be so defenseless. But oh... _oh..._

But Kanda's lips were soft and sweet as sin. An underlying bitterness to it all, like coffee topped with too much cream and sugar, that was what Kanda's kisses felt like. The taste was something indescribable but something warm and not altogether foreign. It was soft as down, soft like baby's skin, and Allen felt his heartbeat shudder to a surprised stop, the spike of pleasure traveling bumpily from the top of his head to between his legs.

It was calmer, not back to normal, but steady now. From the random shudder-jolt of panic it had slowed and refined to the feeling of a hammer in a piano, pressing the key in rhythm, each sound precise and beautiful. A question was on Kanda's lips, one Allen answered with his hands, coming up from his sides to smooth the front of Kanda's uniform, sliding up still, traveling over the shoulders to clasp themselves, like lovers, around Kanda's neck.

A new sort of anticipation rose between them when they broke apart. Allen smiled, and Kanda did too, a hazy happiness on the corners of his mouth.

Afterwards Allen lay curled up under Kanda's arm as the Japanese slept, hair spread out like a broken fan over the pillows. Curious, Allen's hand crept under the sheet to where Kanda's heart was, searching for a moment before - there. He had found it.

He listened.

_Tha-thump_. _Tha-thump_. Just like his. A regular heartbeat that meshed with his own.

He snuggled deeper into Kanda's side, a heartbeat ringing in his head, and slept.


	4. Beached

Beached

by anza (29.10.06)

"Let's go," I said. Allen drove, hands trembling a little. I watched their shaking on the wheel with a vague note of concern, but it wasn't enough to budge me from my seat. No Lavi here, calling the shotgun seat - just me and Allen, both facing forward, not looking at each other.

Night. The drive was a little more than an hour. An almost-full moon hung, suspended in the sky. Allen's hands trembled. Sweet boy, he hadn't gotten his license yet. But I'd called and he'd snuck out; his father was asleep in his study, and probably would be until morning. The car smelled like cats, but Allen - Allen smelled warm, like new bread without the yeastyness. I slouched in the passenger seat, arms crossed. Allen drove faster.

And then, through the air conditioning vent, I smelled it. The ocean. It drowned all thoughts of the boy next to me for a moment, and blew me in with the sucking force of it. The waves crashed in my mind, a pounding surge in my head. Allen drove faster still, the speedometer hitting ninety. I uncrossed my arms and leaned back into the seat, and felt his gaze on me, taking in moon-drenched shirt and skin.

I felt my lips curl up. _I know what you want._ But I didn't say that out loud.

He sat hard onto the sand, and together we watched the waves roll up, roll down. Creepingly they got closer. He was closer, but not closer enough to impose. Though it was chilly, I unbuttoned my shirt, and felt his eyes follow the line of skin disappearing into my pants. _The bait._

The scent of the sea hung heavily, its salty perfume washing across my nose and even my tastebuds. The sand was getting in my hair; there was a little breeze up. Arms behind my head I lay down, and felt the eyes flicker from my collarbone, then to my lips, then all the way down that line of skin. Felt hunger, and restraint. I was a senior now, and next week was I'd be packing up to go to college. This spark between us, flaring and flickering - would he take it? Now, because I was desperate, because despite everything I'd tried he was there, a thorn under my skin? The more I touched it, the more it drove deeper, but the pain - oh, the pleasure sent me to a Heaven far away.

And he knew that, didn't he? Knew his good-boy act, knew I was the one black blot of ink on his shining record. But like tonight, he was loving it. The thrill of sneaking out, the thrill of just me beside him, dark hair and shirt spread - I knew what was going on in his mind. I loved it, he loved it.

His hands were still shaking.

A little breeze whipped up and he inched closer. He was cold; no blankets in the car. I took off my jacket and threw it in his lap, and he huddled under it. Still, he was getting closer, from the cold or from need I didn't know. I didn't want to know.

"Allen, you know that moon actually gets light from the sun? It reflects the sun's light, but we can't see the sun because it's on the other side of the planet."

He gave me a look, like I'd grown three heads. "What do you think I am, a third-grader?" The voice was shaking a little too. It didn't matter from what anymore.

The moment hung suspended in the sky, pearl-drop white like the moon.

Jacket throw off. Lips on lips, clashing together, and then when I steadied him with my hands he threw one leg over my hip and leaned in closer, so that I now smelled him and nothing else. Breathing heavy, hands feeling - my hands leisurely over his back, his bunching my shirt here and there, and then - yes, he was tracing my ribs with his hands, fingers feather-light. I squirmed, tickled. We smiled in our kiss.

_We._ Not 'him', or 'me' anymore. We were one unit, one unit of four clawing hands, two grinding hips, two pairs of hungry lips. What a monstrous description.

It was enough. Snagging my jacket we went back to the car. On the way a sign read, "DO NOT TOUCH THE BEACHED WHALES." in big red letters, barely visible over the brush in front of it.

Allen chuckled, curious. "What stupid whale would get beached here?"

I rapped my knuckles sharply against the crown of his head, twice. He dodged the third time. "One like you, beansprout."

He drove again. There was a smile in his face, even after his lips returned to the pleasant-mild look on his face. His honesty, an open book readable to everyone, that's what drew me in. I thought he was a fool, offering himself as a sacrifice, as a scapegoat to the world. But he had good friends, and now I did. Our high school bravado knew no bounds. We were free, unfettered, crazy as hell. So this little _thing_ I had for Allen was a little call to reality, because I'd be leaving soon and he'd be alone.

The thought of it raised something warm and hurtful in my throat. Kanda Yuu didn't get hurt. He avoided it, narrowly, and let others get hurt instead. Allen deserved better, though. Allen had to know, and they'd have to agree together if tonight was something that never happened.

"Allen." The boy tilted his head halfway towards me. "I'm leaving next week for university."

Head back towards the highway. His expression was a little more closed, a little more cautious now. "Yeah," he said softly. I'd wanted to hear his voice, when it was saying all kinds of truths. There was a special timbre to it, when he was being perfectly honest, that ring like a bell when the words tumbled from his lips. I'd wanted to hear it too, in the midst of passion, when he cried out my name, sobbing. I wanted to know if it still had that ring of truth in it.

"I know," he continued, faltering. "I'll - I'll come and visit you. Once I have my license." The insistence was there, and I smiled.

"It's five hours. We can meet halfway or something."

"No!" Vehemence. "I want to see where you live. Or I want you to come up and...come _home_, Kanda."

I wished I were an actor now, because then I'd definitely have a cigarette in my hand, casually blowing it out the window. I'd look cool, my hair caught against my shoulder, rippling, my shirt still opened to where the ends was tucked into my pants. I'd be saying cool lines, too, like "Yeah, it won't be that bad" and "We'll figure it out". Promises like "I'll come up every weekend" and "I'll bring stuff up, we'll crash at Lavi's place". Maybe for someone else, I'd say it. But not Allen.

I settled for: "What're you, my mother?"

He laughed. We'd stopped at the exit. A roar of engines, and Linali's car whizzed past. They were racing again - I counted, there were seven this time. The blue one, Lavi was probably riding that one tonight. Allen got ready to turn.

And over the hill, one last car sped towards us. _That one's Lavi_, I noted absently, and watched as he changed lanes towards us. Didn't he see us? I checked headlights, and then Allen was turning, but Lavi was there and I could see the whites of his eyes and the red scream of his mouth -

- silence.

First smell. Something was burning, and it didn't smell good. Lavi's orange was across the way, a wreckage of more flickering red and yellow than the dented flames drawn on the nose now. The overpass was silent. There were no cars after us. The man at the gas station had seen and he was at the pay phone now, I could see him. A cut ran over my eye; the windshield had spider-cracked. I blinked the blood out of my eye to no avail, reached over to where Allen was sitting and found my hand hit nothing.

"Allen?" Was that my voice, cracked and nervous? Where was Allen?

The car had tilted on Allen's side, windows down. I sent my fist through the windshield and felt the blood trickle down from a dozen more cuts. Again I hit it, glass raining down on the dashboard. Again, again, again. This pain was Allen, the pain and the pleasure of the hunt mixed together, I loved Allen, and Allen loved me. Us, dancing around the subject like moths for almost two years. And then tonight, he was finally mine. He was the only one who could take my need for silence and for words, for companionship and distance, and translate it into human language. He was the one who'd gotten under my skin and made me feel, made me yearn, made me want to kiss him and fuck him and hold him so close I swear, I _swear_ I'd never let go.

I felt the blood stream down my face and my fist as I climbed out of the car on shaky legs, and thought, _Yes. This is what you've made me, Allen. A hedonist, a masochist. This is why I love you._

And then I saw him.

He looked kinda lonely. Top leg crossed over the other, back a little hunched. I noted absently that his silver hair had red streaks, and his blue polo was dark in some places. It wasn't blood - my mind firmly told me that. Just shadows. Just the shadows of the wreck across the way, and the buzzing streetlamp above the exit.

I moved forward. My legs shook, and I thought of his hands on the wheel. I thought of his smile, I thought of his kiss. The sweetness of it all, the need I couldn't deny. The words I had yet to say.

"Allen?," I ventured, cautious.

Movement. He wanted to turn, but I rushed over, bloody hands on his shoulder, stopping him. As soon as his face came into view I knew I couldn't leave him. The left side of his face - what had happened? It was bloody all over, and his eye was shut. Do eyeballs burst if the pressure is strong enough? I couldn't think of physics, of high school, of sunny days in the quad with a orange juice carton in my hand and Lavi's arm slung around me. Not in this dark place, not when Allen was grasping my hand weakly, tentatively, as if he would break any instant and fade away, and there'd be nothing left of him for me to hold close.

His form, spread out on the pavement. Little black drops here and there - gasoline, I told himself. Just gasoline. The buzzing of the streetlamp. My thoughts grew disjointed, I could feel them shattering into a thousand pieces in the face of his one good eye, looking at me from under his reddened bangs. He smiled, and licked the blood off his lips with his tongue. Winced at the taste. "I'm alright, Kanda," he said finally.

"Yuu," I managed finally.

"Me?," came the inquiry back, faintly borne on the wind.

But I couldn't speak, couldn't clarify, I could only hold his hand. Curse it, the burning in my eyes! I couldn't hold them back, couldn't wrap my brain around such a beautiful evening, such a glittering ocean, and the simple feeling in Allen's eyes. Such a horrible ending to it all. Around my head, thoughts swirled, and I couldn't understand all of them either, just like I couldn't understand the things coming out of my mouth now. Pale reassurances. Promises to visit. Frightened, angry, cursing words.

_This is all like a really good movie_, my mind noted absently. _Such a tragic fate. You should have known better, Kanda, than to open your heart._

_I couldn't help it._ The words spitting out of my brain, out of my mouth. Allen looked a little alarmed. Carefully I cradled his head close, in my lap. He smiled.

Wetness seeped between my legs, warm and gooey and traitorous. _Say the words_, my mind urged me. But, now that they were done with their rant, my lips had sealed themselves shut. Instead, my fingers wiped the blood away, parted his bangs neatly to both sides, traced the sides of his face as gently as I could. The dimples of his face, still stretched in a warm smile. A smile meant for me.

Red, red coughing. "You know," he croaked out, "right before you came, I was thinking to myself about that beached whale. You know, that one at the beach." He giggled a little at the double wording. My eyes filled, and he blinked in surprise when a drop felt right on his forehead, a pale streak of unbroken skin now as the drop slid to the side. Horrendous. It looked like a bloodless cut. Two, three, four rained down on him. His eyes were wide with understanding now, still strong, still my Allen.

A beached whale. He did kind of look like that, his legs like fins and his body laid out. His arms, useless on his sides, made up the body. Waiting for death, because of some little thing. Abandoned by its pack, calling helplessly on the shore. Breathing slowly, slower, stopping. I kissed Allen desperately then, my lips finding his, scrabbling for comfort that _This isn't happening_ and _Don't you die on me now!_ He met mine calmly, lips and tongues and the taste of him, metallic with blood. He'd bitten his cheek when he was thrown out of the window.

When we broke apart his eyes gleamed softly in the moonlight. "You know?," he added, and it took me a moment to realize he was still talking about the stupid whale. _But oh, oh the irony of it all_, I thought to myself as I hunched over him, protective, my hair sliding sluggishly over his face and shoulders. _You don't understand, Allen. I'm the one. I'm the stupid beached whale. You're the one who's leaving me._

He was still smiling up at me, curious. Sweet, sweet Allen.

_Fucking beached._


End file.
